Divergent: Four's Perspective
by HannBe
Summary: Dauntless values bravery above all. But bravery is not always the same as fearlessness. "A brave man acknowledges the strength of others," I reply evenly. "A brave man never surrenders," Eric shoots back, his eyes daring me to say otherwise. I don't. Because a brave man also holds his tongue. This is Four's perspective of Veronica Roth's Divergent.
1. Chapter 1

**_Chapter One_**

I wake to the phrase, "Fear God Alone". Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I push myself onto my elbows and blink at the words painted black against the white walls of my apartment. It serves as a reminder that all fears, besides fear of the Lord, are only faults in our selves, weaknesses. I remember replaying these words over and over in my mind at my choosing ceremony, two years ago today, as my hands shook with apprehension over what I was about to do. Leaving my faction, Abnegation, for Dauntless required a level of bravery I'd only dreamt of. But I did it. I left my father, my father with his cruel mouth and painful hands. In the last ten years, no one, besides me, has transferred from Abnegation to Dauntless. I wouldn't have if I wasn't desperate.

As I head across the Pit to the dining hall for breakfast, feet slap the stone ground behind me. A hand claps my shoulder and I turn to a grinning Zeke.

"Ready to scare the daylights out of the transfers?" he asks.

"You better believe it," I say. "Why else would I have signed up?"

I don't tell him that I actually volunteered to train the transfers because I wanted an excuse to spend more time in the training room.

We enter the dining hall laughing as we fantasize about all the ways we could terrify the transfers, crossing the room to our table in the corner. Shauna and Lauren are already seated. I sit next to Lauren and Zeke faces me from beside Shauna. Shauna sets down her muffin.

"Good morning!" She smiles. I smile back at her. She raises an eyebrow. These days, my smiles are hard to come by.

"You're in a good mood, Four." Lauren nudges me with her elbow. "Excited to train the transfers?"

Am I? All I can think about is the decision I will make after initiation. I don't want to leave behind the friends I've made and I will miss the feel of this place, but I just don't feel like I belong here. Our faction, under the leadership of Max and Eric, has become corrupted by false ideals of bravery.

"I'm excited that my transfers are going to beat out your Dauntless-borns in rankings," I decide.

She rolls her eyes. "In your dreams."

"I wonder who the first jumper will be," says Shauna. Her eyes cloud over.

I nod absentmindedly. The first jumper is almost always a Dauntless-born, though we try to keep the net at the bottom of the cavern a secret. They have a head start on the transfers, who didn't grow up exploring the compound, weren't expected to display attributes of bravery and boldness from a young age. I have voiced my concerns on this issue of fairness, but the current leaders refuse to acknowledge it.

Zeke gasps, his eyes fixed on the line forming in front of the food counter.

"No way. Is that chocolate cake?!" he almost shouts.

In an instant, we are up.

XXXX

The rest of the day passes slowly and uneventfully; the very air seems to be holding its breath. Luckily, since it is Choosing Day, the entire compound is off of work. I spend the remainder of the morning and a majority of the afternoon in the training room, savoring the explosion of power behind my hands as I practice my moves against the punching bag. The moment I set foot in this room for first time during my initiation, I felt an undeniable sense of ease, the sort of feeling that accompanies relief. I knew that if I worked hard, I would never feel vulnerable again. I could defend myself. Against anyone… even my father. This was the first place I ever felt strong.

Sweat and the smell of metal cling to my clothes as I trudge back to my apartment, my body heavy. The transfers, as well as the Dauntless –born initiates, will arrive shortly. The air has finally let out its breath, giving way to an aura of excitement. I dress in a black t-shirt and pants after showering and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

I try to imagine myself as I was in the days when gray dominated the world around me. The dull colors of my clothes have been replaced by darker shades. My eyes fall to my collar bone, where the corner of a tattoo peeks out from underneath my t-shirt. My muscles are defined, made strong by countless hours in the training room. The only resemblance I can see between me and my sixteen-year-old self is my hair. It is still cut like the Abnegation, short and bristly. I guess I've kept it this way as a reminder that Abnegation is still a part of me, for the same reasons I got the tattoos on my back. Choosing one quality over another, like the factions, limits us, sometimes even makes us cruel. Sighing, I shut off the light and leave the room.

After weaving my way through the hallways, I find myself surrounded by a throng of excited members, eagerly awaiting the initiates' arrival. I spot Lauren, whose eyes are already on mine, as she maneuvers her way through the mass of Dauntless. Reaching me, she straightens her shirt and tucks her hair behind her ears.

"Ready?" she asks.

"As I'll ever be." I grin.

When I do, I find it is hard to stop. The excitement in the air is infectious, and my smile doesn't falter as we are swept along with the crowd. We break into a run, barreling down dark hallways, hundreds of feet pounding against the ground. Laughter bounces off the walls, and we turn a corner.

The hallway opens to a spacious cavern. A raised, wooden platform stands in its middle, above it a tightly woven net big enough to cradle a person. I haven't been here since last years' initiation. I climb the stairs of the platform and gaze skywards, narrowing my eyes against the setting sun. Its reflection throws faint, golden beams of light off the metal buildings that protect our headquarters from outside eyes. Everyone is focused on the tallest building in front of us. I don't want to remember the day I jumped; I don't want to remember standing alone, with only the wind for company, as I inched my way to the edge. At my shoulder along the perimeter of the net, Lauren grabs my arm.

"Look," she breathes. All I can make out is a gray blur plummeting towards us. Gray?

An instant passes and the net is stretching and conforming to the shape of a body. I lean over the railing encircling the net and stretch my fingers toward its center, like everyone else. A hand slips into my own, small and warm. I pull, and a girl rolls off the net. Before she falls, I catch her around the arms. She is surprisingly light, and when she looks up, her eyes are blue. The color of a clear summer sky. They do not match the rest of her face, which is small and plain. I release her when she straightens. She only reaches up to my collarbone.

"Thank you," she says. Her voice is low, for a girl's, and clear.

"Can't believe it," says Lauren, smirking, her laid-back demeanor replaced with Dauntless swagger. "A Stiff, the first to jump? Unheard of."

"There's a reason why she left them, Lauren," I say, feeling oddly distant. I turn back to the girl, who looks familiar. But, then again, all the Abnegation resemble each other. "What's your name?"

"Umm…" She hesitates.

Her eyes and mouth search for a name, displeased with the one she finds, just like I was. My initiation instructor gave me an escape from my old identity. I can give her one, too.

"Think about it," I say, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "You don't get to pick again."

And her eyes lock on mine again, her gaze insistent. "Tris," she says firmly.

Tris doesn't sound like an Abnegation name. It must be short for something.

"Tris," Lauren says, tasting the name. "Make the announcement, Four."

I look over my shoulder and raise my voice to project to the crowd forming around us. "First jumper- Tris!"

This way, they will remember her for her first act of bravery. Everyone cheers and claps and thrusts their fists into the air in the way only the Dauntless can. A high scream snaps my head back to the net, where a Candor girl is clutching her stomach, a crazed smile spreading across her cheeks. The crowd breaks into laughter and lets out another round of cheers. I glance at Tris. She is my initiate anyway. I press my hand to her back in case she is not as steady as she seems. "Welcome to Dauntless," I say.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter Two_**

As soon as the initiates are stable on their feet, Lauren and I lead them back through the tunnel-like hallways towards the Pit. As we descend deeper into the compound, I sneak a look back at the group. It is too dark to see, but as we pass back under the glow of one of the regularly spaced lights, they all look anxious. My eyes shift to the Stiff. She is small and thin compared to the others, but the way she holds herself makes her seem inches taller. Lauren and I come to a halt, facing the group from underneath the light.

"This is where we divide," Lauren says. "The Dauntless- born initiates are with me. I assume _you _don't need a tour of the place."

Smiling faintly, she waves a hand and the Dauntless-borns trail behind her as she leads them to the dining hall. They turn a corner and are swallowed by darkness. I am left alone with the nine transfers. I notice that they are all from Candor or Erudite, except for Tris, whose eyes look bright in contrast to her dull clothes.

I clear my throat. "Most of the time I work in the control room," I say, "but for the next few weeks, I am your instructor. My name is Four." Someone is going to ask about my name - I know they will.

A Candor girl, the second jumper, is the one who does. "Four? Like the number?"

"Yes," I say, staring at her. "Is there a problem?"

"No."

That's what I thought. I don't have the time or patience for curious Candors. "Good. We're about to go into the Pit, which you will someday learn to love. It-"

"The Pit? Clever name," the same girl snickers.

I _will_ be taken seriously. I approach her slowly and lower my face so it is only inches from her own. My eyes narrow. Her lip quivers.

I make my voice quiet. "What's your name?"

"Christina," she squeaks out, her dark eyes round.

"Well, Christina, if I wanted to put up with Candor smart-mouths, I would have joined their faction," I hiss through my teeth.

I will never know why the Candor seem attracted to Dauntless. I wish they weren't.

"The first lesson you will learn from me is to keep your mouth shut." My eyes bore into Christina's. "Got that?"

She bobs her head. I walk out of the pool of light and back into darkness. A hush falls over the initiates as they hurry along in my wake.

At the end of the hallway, I come to a stop in front of heavy, wooden double doors. The entrance to the Pit. I push through them and step inside. I'd like to see Christina think up a better name for this massive, underground cavern, now so familiar to me. The transfers follow me in, their eyes wide. I follow their gaze up to the glass-paneled ceiling and the building that rises from it, two stories over our heads. Through it, the last beams of sunlight filter in. The rocky, uneven pathways carved into the walls spiral up to the ceiling, and mounted lanterns cast a blue glow on the various shops situated along them. Around us, the Dauntless are a flurry of activity, calling to each other, gesturing, laughing. I crane my neck, watching a group of young Dauntless race each other up one of the pathways, pushing and shoving their way through the crowd. The fact that they could fall to their deaths at any minute doesn't seem to cross their minds. Safety isn't exactly a precaution here.

I turn back to the transfers. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you the chasm."

I motion them forward as I start toward the right side of the Pit. I glance over my shoulder a few times, making sure no one gets lost in the crowd. The roar of the river grows louder in my ears as we approach the metal railing. When we reach it, droplets of water spray my face as I look down at the battle raging below, a clash between rock and water. White peaks form as the current picks up speed to my right. I wonder who will jump this year. Someone always does.

"The chasm reminds us that there is a fine line between bravery and idiocy!" I yell over the crashing of the river. "A daredevil jump off this edge will end your life. It has happened before and it will happen again. You've been warned."

I turn away from the chasm and lead the initiates to the dining hall. We enter to a screams, catcalls, and applause as the Dauntless inside rise. The chaos of Dauntless life has grown on me, though I was skeptical at first, accustomed to the restrained silence of the Abnegation. At times like this, I feel a pang in my chest at the thought of leaving.

Most of the seats are already taken, but I manage to find an almost empty table in the corner. I slide in beside Tris, who is seated next to that annoying Candor girl. Christina. The smell of hamburger fills my nose and it is just now that I realize I'm starving. Tris moves at my side, picking up a burger and pinching it. Of course, she's never had one before.

I nudge her. "It's beef. Put this on it," I say, pushing a bowl of ketchup towards her.

"You've never had a burger before?" Christina exclaims.

"No. Is that what it's called?" She still doesn't know what to make of it. I remember the first time I had Dauntless food. Its richness was a welcome change from the bland food I was used to.

I lean forward and nod to Christina. "Stiffs eat plain food," I say.

"Why?" she asks. Candors – questioning everything.

Tris raises her shoulders. "Extravagance is considered self-indulgent and unnecessary."

"No wonder you left," says Christina, smirking.

"Yeah. It was just because of the food." Tris rolls her eyes.

I have trouble concealing a smile. I have never met a sarcastic Abnegation.

But then the doors burst open and Eric marches in. Everyone was laughing and joking a few seconds ago, but Eric's presence is enough to shock them into silence. Like snuffing out a candle. Tris stiffens beside me. The transfers must be horrified by his appearance. His greasy hair hangs in strings, obscuring half of his gaunt face, which doesn't have room for another piercing. His black eyes are bottomless pits when they scan the room. I am transported back to another place, another time. A chill runs down my spine.

"Who's that?" asks Christina, her voice hushed.

"His name is Eric," I respond quietly. "He's a Dauntless leader."

"Seriously? But he's so young."

I look at her gravelly. I wish the rules that apply everywhere else were applied here, too. But they aren't. "Age doesn't matter here."

Christina opens her mouth to say something else, but shuts it when Eric's eyes connect with mine. He starts toward our table and plops down on my other side. I keep my eyes on the table and don't speak. When I watched Eric go through his fear landscape the first day of our initiation, he didn't move a muscle. He just stood there in his blue clothes, eyes closed and fists clenched, controlling his breathing to slow his heart-rate. He conquered the fear in his body, rather than the fear in his mind. I have been wary of him ever since.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" he asks, looking at Tris and Christina, who sit so still that they could be made of stone.

I say grudgingly, "This is Tris and Christina."

"Ooh, a Stiff," Eric says. I wish I could smack the smirk off his face. "We'll see how long you last." Tris actually shudders.

"What have you been doing lately, Four?" he asks me. This must be about my absence at Max's meetings.

I shrug. "Nothing, really." _Except avoiding you. _My back feels someone stuck a metal rod in it. I clasp my hands between my knees.

"Max tells me he keeps trying to meet with you, and you don't show up," Eric says slowly, deliberately. "He requested that I find out what's going on with you."

I search for the right words. "Tell him that I am satisfied with the position I currently hold." A job in leadership might suit me, but I refuse to work alongside people like and Max and Eric. And I'd rather not see my father in council meetings.

"So he wants to give you a job." Eric's eyes throw sparks.

"So it would seem," I reply.

"And you aren't interested."

"I haven't been interested in two years."

"Well," says Eric. "Let's hope he gets the point, then." He claps my shoulder, a little too hard to be good-natured. Tris and Christina slouch in their seats as he strolls away.

"Are you two..." Tris pauses. "Friends?"

_Hardly._ "We were in the same initiate class. He transferred from Erudite."

She studies me. "Were you a transfer too?"

Was I this curious as an initiate? I don't think so. "I thought I would have trouble with the Candor asking too many questions," I say, my voice hard. "Now I've got Stiffs, too?"

"It must be because you're so approachable," she says, her voice flat. "You know. Like a bed of nails."

I stare at her. She stares back, unrelenting. Abnegation are known for being submissive, compliant. No wonder she transferred. Her cheeks flush, and I break the tension.

I am not sure what to make of her.

Her stubbornness could get her in trouble one day, so I just say, "Careful, Tris," but I don't know if she understands. Zeke calls out to me from across the room and I stand.

XXXX

Thankfully, the rowdiness of my table distracts me from Eric. After dinner, I leave the transfers to him. I feel a twinge of guilt, but I'd rather not be around him for longer than I have too. It is my responsibility to lock up the control room, anyway.

I finally return to my apartment and collapse on my bed, closing my eyes. My first day and I am already exhausted. My thoughts wander to the transfers. Of the nine, only four made impressions on me, one of them being Tris. I'm sure of seen her before, but that doesn't explain why she seems so familiar. Or why my eyes seem drawn to her. Christina, a big guy I heard someone call Al, and an innocent-looking boy from Candor whose eyes looked surprisingly cold - they also made impressions on me. I sit up, realizing I should at least look over the transfers' names before tomorrow. I unfold the initiate roaster I printed out from the Dauntless archives from my pocket and smooth it out, scanning the transfer column. A name jumps out at me: Prior. Beatrice Prior, Abnegation transfer. Prior was the last name of one of my father's closest coworkers, Andrew. My father was often invited to their house for dinner, but of course, I was never allowed to go. I can still see their perfect Abnegation family unit, a mother and a father and two children, a boy and a girl, walking down the streets, handing out food to the Factionless. I stare at the last few letters of the first name. Trice- Tris.

I do know the transfer from Abnegation.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter Three_**

The next morning, at 8 o'clock sharp, I stand facing nine bleary-eyed transfers in front of a table stacked with guns.

"The first thing you will learn today is how to shoot a gun." I start down the line of black-clad initiates, handing out the rudimentary pistols. I am tempted to see how Tris will react, but I don't look at her as I press the weapon into her palm. She shouldn't distract me. "The second thing is how to win a fight. Thankfully, if you are here, you already know how to get on and off a moving train, so I don't have to teach you that."

It still feels strange having everyone's attention on me, like I am wearing someone else's skin that doesn't quite fit, but I continue. "Initiation is divided into three stages. We will measure your progress and rank you according to your performance in each stage. The stages are not weighted equally to determining your final rank, so it is possible, though difficult, to drastically improve your rank over time."

On day one of my Dauntless initiation, before we even ate dinner, all of us had to brave our fear landscapes. No wonder I was one of only six transfers. Thankfully, two years later, these initiates will face their fear landscapes at the culmination of their training.

"We believe that preparation eradicates cowardice," I say, my eyes scanning the group, "which we define as the failure to act in the midst of fear. Therefore each stage of initiation is intended to prepare you in a different way. The first stage is primarily physical; the second, primarily emotional; the third, primarily mental."

I pause for a breath.

"But what…" The initiate with the shiny hair yawns widely. "What does firing a gun have to do with…" He yawns again. "bravery?"

I will _not_ tolerate this. Before he blinks, the barrel of my gun is pressed between the initiate's now wide-open eyes. He stands frozen, the ghost of a yawn on his lips.

"Wake. Up," I hiss. "You are holding a loaded gun, you idiot. Act like it."

I lower the gun. The initiate looks furious at being reprimanded. I don't care. An indent from the barrel of my gun is centered on his reddening forehead. Thank God this is my last group of initiates.

"And to answer your question…," I say, "You are far less likely to soil your pants and cry for you mother if you're prepared to defend yourself." I stop at the end of the line and pivot, walking back up. "This is also information you may need later in stage one. So, watch me."

I square to the wall, my feet planted a shoulder's-width apart, and eye one of the targets. _Three rings. Just hit the one in the center._ I take a deep breath, focusing on the middle circle until it is the only thing that exists. Holding the gun steady in my hands, I fire on my exhale. _Bulls-eye._

I place the gun back onto the table and stand, arms crossed, observing the initiates. Christina grits her teeth and holds her gun as far away from her body as the length of her arms will allow. She fires. Her bullet hits the edge of the outermost circle. Maybe I have underestimated her.

I can tell Tris was watching me carefully as she positions her feet a shoulders-width apart, her clear eyes focused on the target. She wraps her fingers gingerly around the handle of the gun and squeezes the trigger. She almost punches herself in the nose when her hands leap back from the gun's recoil. I don't see where the bullet went.

The idiotic Candor boy, Peter, as I heard a sturdy-looking girl call him, stands confidently in front of his target. His movements are planned and precise. I choose to believe it is luck that causes a hole to appear in the center of his second circle.

I pair the names from my roaster with faces as my feet carry me up the line. Molly, the sturdy-looking girl I saw talking with Peter, has a large nose and nonexistent chin. She is not focused on her target; her attention shifts frequently to the others around her. Beside her is a red-headed boy named Drew, who appears to be copying Peter's every move. My gaze shifts to a dark haired boy with straight eyebrows, whose bullets are consistently close to the center circle. His silence works in his favor, because no one else takes notice of him. They should. As I look on to the girl next to him, I realize I still don't know if his name is Will or Edward.

He calls the girl Myra. She is a dainty and as a result, struggles to lift her gun far enough from her body. Her elbows are bent, instead of straight, and nearly all her bullets hit the wall above the target.

The big guy I remember as Al stands at the end of the line, his brows furrowed as he loads more bullets into his gun chamber. His meaty hands close around the handle. They're shaking. When he fires, the bullet isn't even close to the target. Al may be powerful, but his aim is not sufficient by Dauntless standards.

I walk back up to the front of the line. The boy standing next to Tris has shaggy, blond hair and pale green eyes. He introduces himself to her. His name is Will.

"Statistically speaking," I catch him say, "you should have hit the target at least _once_ by now, even by accident." I don't hear Tris's response, but her eyes harden with a new determination as she squeezes the trigger again. Her hands still fling back, but her bullet penetrates the edge of the target. _Better_. She grins at Will, raising her eyebrows. For some reason, my stomach tightens. I don't want to watch them anymore.

XXXX

After all the initiates have succeeded in landing a bullet at least somewhere in the vicinity of the target, I call a break for lunch.

I finish loading my tray and plunk down at our table, where Lauren is updating Zeke on her Dauntless-borns' progress. She gestures avidly. "Yes, of course, but if Marlene was stronger, she'd be able to hold the gun more steadily and improve her aim."

"How's Uriah compared to the others?" Zeke asks.

"He's surprisingly accurate," she says, "I mean, considering he's _your_ brother."

I laugh. Zeke wasn't exactly a natural during our initiation. But he worked hard, and eventually grew stronger, his movements more nimble.

Zeke tries to cover up his smile by glaring at her. He turns to me. "How are _your_ initiates doing, Four?"

I skim the room. My eyes land on Tris, Christina, and Al, seated together a few tables away.

"I've noticed progress in a few," I say, looking at Tris, who snaps out of a daze when Christina snaps her fingers in front of her face, "but see the big guy next to the Stiff?"

Lauren and Zeke nod. "That's Al. He's powerful, but he can't aim," I say.

"How's the Stiff coming along?" Lauren smirks.

Warmth spreads across my cheeks for no apparent reason. "Well enough," I say.

"Well, she did jump first. That counts for something, right?" Zeke says.

It does. There is something different about the Stiff. I want to find out more about her. Why did she transfer? Was she desperate, like me? An image flashes in my minds' eye- a small, thin girl with blonde hair clutching the straps of her backpack, standing with her brother in front of school. It could just be my imagination. I don't know. Lauren looks at me curiously. I shrug and go back to my meal of chicken, peas, and potatoes. Once Abnegation, always Abnegation.

After the transfers have eaten, I lead them to the room the Dauntless use for the sole purpose of fighting. The worn wooden floorboards creak under their feet as they take their places behind the faded punching bags along the right side on the room. Painted on the floor is a red circle. I stand in its center, facing the group. My chalkboard is mounted on the wall behind me. On it, I've written the transfers' names in alphabetical order.

Al

Christina

Drew

Edward

Molly

Myra

Peter

Tris

Will

"As I said this morning, next you will learn how to fight," I say to the anxious faces before me. "The purpose of this is to prepare you to act; to prepare your body to respond to threats and challenges- which you will need, if you intend to survive life as a Dauntless."

I learned hand-to-hand combat as an initiate. It served as a learning experience only. I am concerned, however, that with Eric in charge, this stage of training will be more brutal than informative. I hope I am wrong.

"We will go over technique today, and tomorrow you will start to fight each other," I explain. "So I recommend that you pay attention. Those who don't learn fast will get hurt."

I demonstrate a few basic punches, first against the air and then against the punching bag. The familiar surge of power courses through my veins as my fist collides with the bag. I also throw in a couple basic, but effective, kicks.

I wander down the line of transfers, taking in who needs improvement where and how they can perfect their moves. Molly's arm speed could be faster. I tell her to make her movements more explosive. Will is standing too stiffly. I point out that he should practice moving his feet. I notice that Edward, the dark-haired boy who impressed me this morning, and Myra are standing unusually close. I smirk.

"If you gave yourself some space," I say to Myra, "You'd have room to swing your leg out and generate some force." Color rises in her cheeks and she slides away from Edward. He scowls.

When I stop in front of the Stiff, sudden nervous energy buzzes inside me. I push it down. She has a small, narrow build and slight shoulders – not ideal for fighting.

"You don't have much muscle," I say, "which means you're better off using your knees and elbows. You can put more power behind them."

Before I lose my nerve, I set my hand against her stomach, my fingers reaching from one side of her rib cage to the other. Her eyes widen.

I lower my voice, "Never forget to keep tension here."

I withdraw my hand and shove it in my pocket. My mind is far from training as I continue down the line.

When I reach Al, it takes me a few seconds to collect my thoughts. Although his punches propel the bag forward, his conflicted eyes and set of his jaw are an indication of discomfort.

"Have you ever done this before?" I ask, nodding at the bag. I am positive Peter and Edward have both practiced hand-to-hand combat in the past.

"Nope." He shakes his head. His voice is soft.

"Thumbs out, then. You don't want to break them," I tell him, scrutinizing his clenched hands.

He adjusts his fists, but not his state of mind. I keep walking.

XXXX

A few hours later I dismiss the initiates, some of whom are already walking gingerly. As I cross the dining hall to my table, Eric steps in front of me, blocking my path.

"Yes?" I ask tersely.

"Fighting starts tomorrow. Max said that you are to set up the pairs this time. I'll do it next round."

"Alright," I say. Eric nods and brushes past me, leaving me wondering who I'm going to pair with whom.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter Four_**

I declined Zeke's offer to hang out by the chasm after dinner. It was tempting, but I have work to do. I reach the door to my apartment and fit my key into the lock. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pencil, I plop down on my bed. Since there are an odd number of initiates, one of them will not participate. Tapping my pencil against my leg, I think back to this morning's training. Christina threw quick, nimble punches. Molly's movements were slower, but more powerful. I jot down their names next to each other. Will has a sturdy build, as does Al. I pair them together. I write Peter and Drew's names side by side. I smirk, wondering if Peter's little side-kick has picked up any moves from him. It is sadistic to pair a weak initiate with one of the strongest, but I pencil in Myra's name next to Edward's. I have a feeling he will go easy on her.

Eight names. Nine initiates. The spot next to Tris' name is blank. I left it that way on purpose. After observing and learning from the fights today, I am hopeful that she will have a better chance in the fights to come. I am rooting for her, because I know exactly how it feels to be in her position. Abnegation are deemed weak for their reluctance to inflict pain upon others. But no one realizes that our selflessness, our natural instinct to put others before ourselves, even if it means endangering our lives, is what makes us brave.

She should, by no means, be underestimated.

Her advances are calculated before she makes them. Her small build allows for quick, accurate movements. And as much as I don't want to admit it, touching her sent a thrill through my stomach.

XXXX

"Since there are an odd number of you," I say, turning away from my chalkboard in the training room, "One of you will not be fighting today."

I raise my eyebrows at Tris. She lets out a breath when she sees her name, unpaired, at the bottom of the board.

Eric stands a few feet to my right, tapping his foot. "Will. Al. I believe you have the good fortune of going first."

Will exchanges a look with Al and together they walk into the small arena. A buzzing emanates from the cluster of initiates as they engage in whispered conversations.

After a moment of facing each other, both Will and Al's hands are up, protecting their faces. They scuffle around in a slow circle, mirroring each other's movements. At this angle, it apparent that Al has a good six inches on Will. And I'd guess he's forty pounds heavier.

Will makes the first move. Two quick steps and he's close enough to jab Al with a well-placed punch to the gut. Al's face contorts, and he draws his fist back and aims a punch at Will's jaw.

_Hard_.

The force of the blow sends Will stumbling backward. To his credit, he gathers enough strength to block Al's next punch with one hand, the other holding his jaw. Beside me, Eric chuckles. His eyebrow earring glints as he twists it absentmindedly.

He is actually enjoying this. I press my lips into a line. I have to concentrate.

Will stands in the arena with his fists clenched in front of him. I spot Will's weakness a moment before Al does, and then Al's fist is sinking into Will's unguarded stomach. Will gasps and doubles over. But when he straightens, his eyes are fastened on Al's. He advances, hooking his foot around Al's leg and wrenching it back, causing Al to topple over. He clambers to his feet, his face shining in sweat.

Both Al and Will are breathing heavily. Will flicks his hair away from his eyes. They look at me, unsure. But I am not the one in charge here.

Eric pointedly checks his watch.

"Do you think this is a leisure activity?" he shouts a few seconds later. Al and Will have been circling each other for too long. Neither is willing to make the next move. "Should we break for naptime? Fight each other!"

Al stops circling and lets his hands drop to his sides. "But… Is it scored or something? When does the fight end?"

I have to speak up. "According to Dauntless rules," I say, "one of you could also concede." At least, these were the rules when I was an initiate.

Eric faces me, eyes narrowed. "According to the _old _Dauntless rules." He sneers. "In the new rules, no one concedes."

Dauntless values bravery above all. But bravery is not always the same as fearlessness.

"A brave man acknowledges the strength of others," I reply evenly.

"A brave man never surrenders," he shoots back, his eyes daring me to say otherwise.

I don't. Because a brave man also holds his tongue.

Al breaks the silence. "This is ridiculous. What's the point of beating him up? We're in the same faction!"

"Oh, you think it's going to be that easy?" Will grins crookedly. "Go on. Try to hit me, slowpoke."

Sheer willpower blazes behind Will's eyes. Al is capable of knocking Will out cold with one solid punch. And still Will lifts his hands.

Al aims another punch but connects with air. Will straightens back up, only to skirt another punch. He darts around Al and thrusts his foot into Al's back, pitching him forward.

When Al spins around, I am taken aback by the anger in his eyes. Before Will can react, he surges forward and grips Will's arm. One solid punch to the jaw, and Will's eyes roll back into his head. Al releases him and Will slides to the floor, unconscious.

The initiates stand frozen, completely helpless. Al's brows draw together and, standing above Will's crumpled form, he seems to shrink a little. He kneels down and taps Will's pale cheek with his fingertips. After a few seconds of this and still no signs of life from Will, my blood turns cold. But then Will's eyes flicker open. He blinks, rubbing his head.

"Get him up," Eric orders Al. Staring at Will's bruised body, Eric looks satisfied, like he is feeding off Will's pain. He is a hungry shark and Will is at the wrong place at the wrong time.

I turn to my board and circle Al's name. One fight down. Three to go.

"Next up- Molly and Christina!" shouts Eric. His energized demeanor, his eager tone- to him, this is entertainment.

Hoisting Will over his shoulder, Al hauls Will out of the arena. He will need to go to the infirmary, no doubt. I walk over and wrap my arm around Will's waist, steadying him. He grimaces as we make our way to the door. I look over my shoulder. Al is standing dejectedly to the side, watching us go. Behind him, the initiates part to make way for Christina and Molly.

"Can you see alright?" I ask Will as I pull the door shut.

He nods, though his eyes are still slightly unfocused. I keep my arm around him as we walk, slowly, to the infirmary. Luckily it is close. I don't think it's a coincidence.

After a minute, Will looks sidelong at me. "Tris said you and Eric were in the same initiate class. Is that right?"

My thoughts stray.

"Yes, we were. What else did she say?" I ask before I can stop myself.

He narrows his eyes. "Nothing, really," he answers. "Why?"

I try to play it off. "Well," I say, "I don't want to be compared to Eric." Which is true. But it wasn't the reason I was curious.

His expression clears. "Would anyone?" He laughs softly, holding a hand to his ribs.

I smile a little.

After I've deposited Will in the infirmary, I glance at my watch. I'd rather not leave the transfers alone with Eric, but my shift starts in fifteen minutes. Besides, if the initiates think I am anything like him, they won't mind my absence.

I wind through the hallways until I reach the Pit and head towards the elevators along one of its walls. Once inside, I press my palm against the button that reads _Level 8_. The elevator ascends higher which each passing beep. It halts, and I cross its threshold into a large, white room with two hallways branching off to the left and right. I choose the one to the right. The hallway to the left is the Dauntless leaders' meeting room. I have never seen it.

I don't plan to.

When I enter the control room, the entire city is looking back at me. Every place I have ever known is pictured on the dozens of screens that cover the entire back wall. The Hub casts a blue glow over top of the city from the upper left corner. Abnegation families walk the streets, bobbing their heads at passerby towards the bottom of the wall. And in the middle, black-clad people crowd the Pit.

One of the chairs in front of the monitors spins around.

White teeth flash in the dim light. "Hey, man." Zeke grins.

"Hey."

"So, first day of fights. Care to share?" he asks.

I sit, booting up the computer in front of me.

"I only watched one, between Al and Will," I say. I pointed out the transfers to him at dinner last night. "It wasn't pretty."

He whistles. "Al, the behemoth? Can't shoot to save his life?"

I smirk. "The same. I came here after I took Will to the infirmary."

My fingers fly across the keys. I open a file containing apple delivery dates from the Amity and email it to the Fence Patrol. And it is summer after all; I crank up the air conditioning.

Zeke swivels to face me.

"I was thinking- next weekend at the Pub. You. Me. Shea and Annie."

I groan. Double dates never end well. For me, anyway. I kept to myself throughout my schooling. I never had a girlfriend, much less a friend. Marcus made sure of that. My absence at community events did not go unnoticed by my peers, who were convinced that something was wrong with me - that I was sick, or unstable, or just plain strange.

I was alone, had no one who could help me cope with the horrors that awaited me almost every day after school. A part of me still sits on my doorstep, shaking at the prospect of walking through the door.

Zeke's voice jolts me back to the present.

"Come on," Zeke pleads, "It'll be fun. You need a night off."

I sigh. Maybe this time I won't have to watch Zeke make out with a girl he just met while I sit, in an awkward silence, with my date.

"Fine," I say. That's what friends are for, I guess.

He claps my shoulder. "By the way, you should thank me. Annie's _hot_."

I try not to roll my eyes.

XXXX

Eric infiltrates my dreams tonight. Rushing water is all I hear as he counts down on his fingers. His mouth forms the words, _three, two, _

On one, he pulls a lever that collapses the platform above the chasm. The platform that the transfers_ were standing on_.

My eyes connect with Tris' in the instant before she falls. Screams pierce the air, seeping their way through the cracks inside of me, until

I am

Nothing.

My eyes snap open. I sit up, drenched in a cold sweat, and stare at my hands. Last night, Lauren told me what Eric did to Christina. I can't say I was surprised; it is exactly the kind of cruel, sadistic thing Eric would do. Sadder still is the fact that Dauntless allowed it to happen.

I shake out my hands, like it will rid me of the dream. I have another round of fights to watch.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter Five_**

I walk into the training room. I skipped breakfast- I don't have an appetite.

I stop mid-stride when I see the pairings on the chalkboard.

Molly vs. Edward

Peter vs. Tris

Al vs. Drew

Will vs. Christina

I clench my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms. Leave it to Eric to pair the smallest initiate with one of the strongest.

Eric sets his chalk down and saunters over to me. I lean against the wall next to the door, arms crossed.

"Dangled any initiates over the chasm today, Eric?"

He smirks. "She deserved it."

Eric and my punching bag aren't all that different, really. I breathe in. Then out.

"The results of the fights you missed are posted outside the conference room," he tells me. I nod once, and turn away just as the door opens.

Peter strolls in, trailed by Molly and a dejected-looking Drew, who winces with each step. Different shades of black and blue discolor his face. I don't have to check the results to know that Peter beat him. Peter's eyes glint when he sees his name on the board.

He whispers something to Drew and Molly, who smirk.

"What was that, Peter?" I say, my voice hard.

He glares at me, about to fire back, but thinks better of it. "Nothing," he mutters.

The rest of the initiates file in in groups. I can't help it; I sneak a look at Tris. She is staring at the board, cheeks flushed and posture rigid. But her eyes tell a different story. They should be scared, like the rest of her, but instead fire burns behind them.

And I know- I just know- that she won't go down without a fight.

Too soon, Eric calls up Molly and Edward. The fight moves quickly. Edward's movements are deliberate, intended to target Molly's weaknesses. He darts around her, dodging her kicks, his fist colliding with her stomach, her jaw. He swipes her legs out from underneath her, and she slams into the ground. She clambers to her feet, but I know the fight is over. Her eyes are too unfocused, her breathing too labored.

Eric grabs her arm and pulls her off to the side. She slumps against the wall.

I bit my lip so hard it hurts, hoping the pain will distract me from the fact that Eric is calling Tris and Peter into the arena.

It doesn't.

Peter sneers at Tris as she stands in front of him, her face drained of color. Her slight build, the way she is leaning into her toes; she looks like she could take flight. She probably wishes she could.

"You okay there, Stiff?" Peter pouts his lip in mock concern. "You look like you're about to cry. I might go easy on you if you cry."

Eric taps his foot beside me anxiously. All I can do stand still.

All at once, Peter's hands are up guarding his face, his knees bent and pliable.

"Come on, Stiff," he jeers. "Just one little tear. Maybe some begging."

Tris acts quickly, but not quickly enough. Peter catches her foot before she can kick him and jerks her forward. With a thump, her back hits the floor. She wrenches her foot from Peter's grasp and pushes herself up again.

"Stop playing with her," Eric barks from beside me. "I don't have all day."

Peter's fist is only a blur as he slams it into Tris' jaw. I am surprised, but I will not, I cannot, compliment him. Not when Tris is so unevenly matched. She sways, holding her arms out to steady herself.

But Peter doesn't let up. I don't care what Eric says; I've read the manifestos.

Dauntless does not value ruthlessness.

He moves forward as Tris tries to back up, and, without hesitation, drives his foot into her gut. She falls, and somehow hoists herself off the ground, but Peter isn't done. He grabs a fist-full of her hair- all the better to punch her face.

My hands are shaking. _Why do I feel this way?_ She's just another initiate, who happens to be from Abnegation. I can't have feelings for her. _I can't._

In an attempt to free herself, she slaps Peter's arms. He responds by socking her in the ribs.

Blood is streaming from her nose and onto the mat. She coughs, clutching her side. I squeeze my eyes shut, but all I can see is red.

When I open them, Tris is sprawled on the ground, blinking up at Peter. She wipes her nose with her sleeve and drags herself up for the third time.

He hits her again. And again. I hear a low groan. She must have managed to hit him, but I'm not sure, I am too busy looking at the floor, the ceiling, the initiates- anything but her.

And then Peter laughs. Something in me _snaps_.

Not even thinking about how it will look to Eric, I slam my shoulder into the door and storm out of the room.

XXXX

I'm far enough from the training room.

I'm not far enough because her scream, high pitched and desperate, still penetrates the walls around me, still works its way into my head.

And I'm turning on my heel, striding back towards the room I just stormed out of, yanking open the door.

Eric stands with his back to me, circling Peter's name on the chalkboard. The transfers are huddled to the side, still and silent. Christina, Al, and Will clutch at each other's arms, looking as pained as I feel, though I'm not the one lying, reduced to a curled up ball, at Peter's feet.

"Enough!" I shout, anger pulsing in my chest like the blood through my veins.

Reaching Tris, I crouch down and gently scoop her up, her head against my chest, my arms supporting her legs. She's out cold. I can't look at Peter. I can't stand knowing that not a shred of regret exists behind his eyes.

Bravery, I have discovered, comes in many forms. And right now, it takes every ounce of my bravery to keep my composure as I turn to face Eric.

"I'm taking her to the infirmary," I say, my voice tight. "God knows she needs it."

For once, he has nothing to say.

I let the door shut behind me without a backwards glance and turn my attention to Tris. She lays still and fragile in my arms, her face pale, small, and by all means unremarkable. But having lived sixteen of my eighteen years under Marcus' roof, I have realized that people are composed of layers, and more often than not, the skin they wear can be deceiving. Tris' reluctance to give up, even when it would have been acceptable, proves that she is more than this first layer.

She could be a contender. If only she'd learn to attack first.

Upon entering the infirmary, the white light momentarily disorients me, and I blink as I start towards the check-in. The nurses don't ask what happened; these kinds of injuries are far too common amongst the Dauntless.

I know I shouldn't look over my shoulder, towards the metal-framed bed where Tris is now laying, as I turn to leave. I shove my hands into my pockets. And I look over my shoulder.

XXXX

Too many bloody-noses and infirmary visits later, I sit in the dining hall, my hand supporting the side of my head. I am staring at my plate, but not really seeing it.

"You alright, Four?" says Zeke, his mouth full to bursting with chocolate cake.

I give my head a shake to clear it. "Just trying to hold out until this weekend's double date," I tell him, trying to smile but not succeeding.

He garbles something incomprehensible, nearly choking on the cake. He swallows with difficultly. Lauren rolls her eyes, and Shauna laughs.

"I knew you were excited, even if you didn't want to admit it." He grins triumphantly.

And somewhere, I find a smile too.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter Six_**

Field trip day. I drag myself out of bed, my eyelids heavy from last night's late shift in the control room. Eric will not be attending this morning due to an "important" meeting. I can still hear the whispers, snitches of hushed conversation, slipping out from under the closed door of the meeting room when I passed it yesterday. I know exactly what this meeting is about. The Dauntless leaders are hunting the Divergent.

I rub my hair, glistening with shower water, dry and pull on my dark clothes. Like the Divergent, I can resist and manipulate simulations. But while the Divergent have aptitude for multiple factions, my test result was textbook Abnegation. Marcus wouldn't have accepted anything else. I chose food over the weapon and threw myself in the path of the dog to save the little girl only because he coached me. For the thousandth time, I wonder what my results would have been if he hadn't.

After grabbing a muffin from the dining hall, I stand waiting in front of the train tracks. Behind me, beams of soft morning light refract from the glass building above the Pit. As I check my watch, a large group of Dauntless-borns push through the door, laughing and elbowing each other. Slowly, and then all at once, I am surrounded by a pack of excited initiates.

I hear the train before I see it, the rattling of the tracks and the blare of the horn. I step closer to the tracks, leaning forward slightly and peering to my left. The train thunders towards us, slowing only minimally. When it is close enough, I step back to let some of the others get on. As expected, the transfers are clumsier than the Dauntless-borns. I take off, matching my pace to that of the train's. I smile a little as the boy in front of me, Will, throws himself into the car stomach first.

I got on alright, the first time I jumped onto a train. But I was victorious only for a second before a sharp turn sent me stumbling forward. I ended up smacking my face against a wall.

Now, my fingers clenched around the handle, I ease myself in smoothly. The initiates are huddled around the car, some nursing minor scrapes. Peter smirks as Al hoists Tris into the car. She brushes herself off, her cheeks reddening under her bruises, but she smiles at Al.

"Feeling okay there?" Peter asks Tris, pouting his lip. "Or are you a little… _Stiff_?"

He guffaws at his own cleverness. Molly and Drew join in, their laughter resounding off the walls. Tris grits her teeth, glaring at the floor.

I don't usually hate people, but I hate Peter. I hate the way he tries to shrink people, the same way Eric does.

Will glowers at them. "We are all awed by our incredible wit," he says.

"Yeah, are you sure you don't belong with the Erudite, Peter?" Christina speaks up. "I hear they don't object to sissies."

I cut off Peter's next retort. "Am I going to have to listen to your bickering all the way to the fence?"

That shuts them up. I turn away, towards the car's opening, and hold firmly to the handles on either side. As I lean forward, the wind whips around me, plastering my shirt tight against my chest. The city rushes past, a blur of dismal colors blending into each other, so I could almost forget where I am. But where am I, anyway? What lies beyond our little bubble, what cities surround us? We can't be the only people- this life can't be the only life to left to live. The chill runs down my spine when I imagine someone, somewhere, thinking the same thing. And suddenly, staring up at the blue sky, I have never felt so small.

As the train rumbles along, the dreary, crumbling buildings of the city soon give way to yellow fields dotted with sparse trees. The train squeals to a stop under a shady awning, the fence in front of us and a stretch of Amity farms beyond it. I jump down, the initiates following suit. I try to imagine spending my days pacing up and down an expanse of chain link fence. I get bored just watching the guards from the control room.

I narrow my eyes against the glare of the sun and face the group. "Follow me," I say.

They trail behind as I walk the crumbling road to the gate, wide and tall enough for delivery trucks to transport the necessary supplies into the city.

I stop in front of it. "If you don't rank in the top five at the end of initiation," I say, "you will probably end up here. Once you are a fence guard, there is some potential for advancement, but not much. You may be able to go on patrols beyond Amity's farms, but-"

"Patrols for what purpose?" Will interjects, his brows furrowed.

I wish I knew. I shrug. "I suppose you'll discover that if you find yourself among them," I tell him. "As I was saying. For the most part, those who guard the fence when they are young continue to guard the fence. If it comforts you, some of them insist that it isn't as bad as it seems."

Well, one of my fellow initiates did, once.

The initiates whisper among themselves. "What rank were you?" asks Peter, looking at me critically.

Feeling like his expression will be worth it, I tell him. "I was first."

Disbelief makes his eyes wider than usual. "And you chose to do _this_? Why didn't you want a government job?"

What is it with these curious transfers?

"I didn't want one."

Before he can reply, the guards pull the gates open towards us to admit a truck, its bed stacked full with crates of apples. One of the guards calls my name. I recognize her as Mia, an Amity transfer from my own initiate class.

She grins at me when I reach her, her gun propped casually against her shoulder.

"Long time, no see!" she says. "How are you?"

"I'm alright," I say. "And you?"

"As good as you can be, walking up and down a fence all day." She shrugs.

We talk for a few minutes about our own initiation, and soon the conversation shifts to the current initiate class.

"How many transfers this year?" she asks.

"Nine. Candor, Erudite, and one Abnegation."

As I say it, I glance over Mia's shoulder. I notice that Tris is separate from the group, talking animatedly with one of the Amity boys from the truck.

I excuse myself, and Mia and I go our separate ways.

I approach Tris, who now stands alone, her eyes fixed on the truck that is now meandering back down the road to Amity. Music from the banjo one of them was strumming floats through the air.

I stop in front of her, partly because she shouldn't be conversing with members of other factions, and partly for another reason, one I can't describe.

"I am worried that you have a knack for making unwise decisions."

She crosses her arms and juts her bottom lip out. "It was a two minute conversation."

"I don't think a smaller time frame makes it any less unwise," I tell her. Up close, her bruises are more prominent, standing out against her pale complexion. I reach out, my fingers brushing the swollen skin at the corner of her eye.

She jerks back at my touch, and I should take my hand away, but I don't want to.

I sigh. "You know, if you could just learn to attack first, you might do better."

Her eyebrows draw together, a little crinkle appearing between them. "Attack first? How will that help?"

Tris may be small, but she could use her size and speed to her advantage. "You're fast. If you can get a few good hits in before they know what's going on, you could win." I shrug and let my hand fall away.

"I'm surprised you know that," she says softly, not meeting my eyes, "since you left halfway through my one and only fight."

_She noticed_. "It wasn't something I wanted to watch."

Before I say something I'll regret, I clear my throat, feeling oddly nervous. "Looks like the next train is here," I say. "Time to go, Tris."


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter Seven_**

The next morning's training session passes quickly. The fights, which I paired, ended with no surprises: Tris took Myra down with a single punch, Edward's skill surpassed Drew's, Molly's strength could not account for Will's speed, and Al let Peter beat him. I've watched Al's will to fight slowly diminish ever since his first fight against Will. Strong, but submissive, he is a grizzly bear afraid to roar. It is only a matter of time until Eric's patience with him wears thin.

I return to my apartment, slipping on a pair of worn running shoes, sliding my watch onto my wrist. I'll need a clear head if I am going to beat Eric in capture the flag tonight.

In Abnegation, all forms of exercise are deemed self-indulgent. Its members claim that it serves only one purpose: to make one's body stronger, faster, better. But they don't realize that it is also an escape. I can lose myself in the thump of my shoes against the cracked sidewalks, the quickness of my breathing, my arms cutting smoothly through the air. I could forget anything when I run. Everything.

I could forget that one day at work when I hacked into the supposedly secure Dauntless files. That I stumbled across documents I can only describe as war plans. I could forget that the supply lists, commands, maps –all of it- was sent from Erudite. I could cast every thought I've had of the plans for the last few weeks from my mind.

Almost.

I push open the exit door and step outside. The days are long, as summer days are, the sun just beginning to set. I breathe in. And I take off. Past towering, glass paneled buildings, dark alleyways, and a stop light, hanging precariously over the road. I push myself harder. My breaths now come in short bursts, and my legs are aching, burning. But it doesn't matter. Because with the wind at my back, the city now a blur alongside me, the Dauntless headquarters out of sight,

I am free.

XXXX

Hours later I stand, flashlight in hand, before the door to the transfers' dormitory. My watch reads 11:50PM. A group of Dauntless members, around my age, converse in excited whispers behind me. They are along for the ride. Next to me, Eric counts down on his fingers. On one he shoves open the door.

We barge into the room, our flashlight beams bouncing off the walls, revealing the corner of a nightstand here, the baseboard of a bed there.

"Everybody up!" Eric hollers. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can see that most of the initiates had been lying in bed, sleeping. Not anymore.

Subconsciously, I shift my eyes to Tris' bunk. She is already looking at me, sitting on her bed with her elbows locked behind her, her blonde hair framing her face. I should close the space between us. _What?_ No, I can't do that.

"Did you go deaf, Stiff?" snaps Eric when Tris still hasn't gotten up. She blinks and slips out from under the blankets. I look away, and see Christina, standing in front of her bed in nothing but a long t-shirt, her arms crossed. She stares defiantly at Eric, her jaw set. Smart-mouth that she is- the Candor's got spunk.

Eric smirks and addresses the transfers. "You have five minutes to get dressed and meet us by the tracks. We're going on another field trip."

I follow him and the others out of the room, the transfers frantically pulling on clothes and shoes behind us.

I jog beside Shauna up the narrow paths along the walls of the Pit. We brush past members, our elbows clipping and our shoulders jostling them. Unlike the Abnegation, the Dauntless are not known for their manners. I don't bother to apologize.

We slow to a stop in front of the train tracks. Across from me, Eric wipes sweat from his brow.

"Got a plan?" he says to me.

"Yes," I say curtly.

His mouth curls into a smile, but there is no warmth in his expression. "We'll see how that works out for you."

Though Eric transferred from Erudite, I am willing to bet that he will choose the largest, strongest initiates, believing that their size will provide an advantage. But I know better.

This is a game of speed.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Chapter Eight_**

The Dauntless-borns show up first, the transfers following closely behind.

The initiates congregate around the pile of paint guns I brought up earlier. A few Dauntless –borns nudge each other with their elbows, grinning. No doubt their family members have told them of this annual game.

"Everyone grab a gun!" Eric shouts.

The initiates scramble toward the pile, pushing and shoving. I smile a little as Tris slips around the others, grabbing her gun before anyone else can lay a hand on it, when Will tears open his box of paintballs and immediately starts loading his gun.

"Time estimate?" Eric asks me.

I glance at my watch. He has been here two years. _Two full years_. "Any minute now," I say. "How long is it going to take you to memorize the train schedule?"

"Why should I, when I have you to remind me of it?" He shoves my shoulder. I sigh. Engaging in an argument is pointless right now, though tempting.

Out of the corner of my eye, I make out the soft glow of the trains' headlights approaching steadily. Just before the first car reaches me, I fall into pace, my arms pumping. I can hear light footsteps behind me as I swing inside. I turn, and with a flutter in my stomach, see Tris, running smoothly next to the car. The other initiates are only just starting to follow her. I extend a hand, and her fingers close around my forearm. I tug her in easily. I want her to look at me, to say something, but instead she avoids my eyes and sits on the other side of the car, putting as much space between us as she can.

Have I done something wrong?

I give my head a slight shake and lean against the wall by the door. After helping Myra in, I address the group.

"We'll be dividing into two teams to play capture the flag," I say. "Each team will have an even mix of members, Dauntless-born initiates, and transfers. One team will get off first and find a place to hide their flag. Then the second team will get off and do the same." I clutch the side of the doorway as the train lurches. "This is a Dauntless tradition, so I suggest you take it seriously."

I glance at Eric, standing off to the side with his lips pursed, eyeing the initiates.

"What do we get if we win?" shouts a girl with multiple piercings.

I raise an eyebrow. "Sounds like the kind of question someone not from Dauntless would ask. You get to win, of course."

Eric unfolds his arms and steps forward. "Four and I will be your team captains," he says. To me, "Let's divide up transfers first, shall we?"

If I am right about his strategy, his team will not include anyone I want. "You go first," I tell him.

"Edward."

I knew it. I press my shoulders into the wall and scan the group of transfers, but I already know exactly who I want.

"I want the Stiff."

As I say it, laughter fills the car and color floods Tris' cheeks. She looks at the floor.

"Got something to prove?" Eric smirks, clearly remembering the gray clothes I wore in the past. "Or are you just picking the weak ones so that if you lose, you'll have someone to blame it on?"

Eric sees people the way he wants to see them. The Abnegation girl should be timid and afraid, too absorbed in the well-being of others to make something of herself.

I shrug and say, "Something like that. Your turn."

She isn't.

Eric tucks a strand of greasy hair behind his ear. "Peter."

"Christina."

"Molly."

I bit my thumbnail, realizing speed will do no good if we lack a plan of attack. "Will."

"Al."

I smile a little. "Drew."

"The last one left is Myra. So she's with me," Eric says. "Dauntless-born initiates next."

I continue to adhere to my plan- choosing the smallest, lithest initiates, while Eric does not hesitate in picking those who he believes are the strongest.

"Marlene," I say.

"Gabe."

"Uriah."

Eric chooses his last team member and smirks at me.

"Your team can get off second," he says.

"Don't do me any favors," I smile a little crookedly. "You know I don't need them to win."

"No, I know that you'll lose no matter when you get off." He bites down on one of the rings in his lip. "Take your scrawny team and get off first, then."

He passes me the flag without looking at me. Its glow shines through my pocket. As my team stands, I realize that he is still oblivious to my strategy, hasn't connected the narrow shoulders and small-frames of my initiates with speed.

A clench in my stomach, and the train starts its descendent. I let go of the handles and take a few steps back, and then, when the train is almost level with the ground, I jump. My feet collide into pavement and I let my momentum carry me forward, jogging a few steps to steady myself.

My team jumps off the train with varying levels of success. Christina throws her arms out to her sides as she leaps and stumbles only slightly. The sudden impact causes Drew to lurch forward. He sticks an arm out to break his fall. Tris' eyes light up when she finds herself still stable on her feet. I can't help but grin along with her.

Someone touches my shoulder. A Dauntless-born- Marlene. "When your team won, where did you put the flag?"

"Telling you wouldn't really be in the spirit of the exercise, Marlene." I shift under her hand, tugging at my gun strap.

"Come on, Four," she whines. When pleading doesn't work, she flashes a white smile at me, batting her eyelashes.

I will not be swayed that easily. I brush her hand away.

"Navy Pier," calls out Uriah. His looks are strikingly different from Zeke's. While they share the same dark eyes and defined cheekbones, Zeke's physique is slight and short, whereas Uriah's is tall and lean. I can tell he is built for speed. "My brother was on the winning team. They kept the flag at the carousel."

I feel lighter at the memory. Zeke and I were on the same team during our initiation. After sending a search party out, we had a general idea of the location of the other teams' flag- a mere blinking dot in an unfamiliar section of Grant Park. The only way to get a closer look was, I realized, by blending into the surroundings. Camouflage. We were able to formulate a strategy, mud splattered, twigs and leaves poking out from our hair, unseen within the trees. I can still see Amar's smile. All the other team saw of us was a blur as we rushed forward. Eric avoided me for a full week after our victory.

Will's voice cuts through my reverie. "Let's go there, then."

I fall in step beside Shauna as we walk eastward, the initiates' lowered voices mingling with the chirping of crickets, the occasional croak of a frog. Moisture is thick in the air as we draw closer to the marsh. When I glance over my shoulder, I can see a faint glow, penetrating the hazy darkness. Despite the late hour, Erudite's lights are still on, like they've been for the past month. _What are they doing? Why do they need night light?_ I should disconnect myself from the questions careening through my head, concentrate on the game.

But as we cross the bridge, I realize I could use a distraction. There is something unnerving about the expanse of crumbling, dilapidated buildings spread out before us, the way the moonlight reflects off the shards of broken glass strewn around our feet. We walk forward cautiously, our footsteps disturbing the silence that lies like a blanket over this section of the city. Squinting in no way lessens the darkness; I can't see where I'm going. Shauna's fingers grip my arm.

A beam of light shines around my ankles.

In front of me, Uriah whips his head around. "Scared of the dark, Mar?"

"If you want to step on broken glass, Uriah, be my guest," she retorts. But she flicks the light off anyway. Pride - it lies in every Dauntless heart.

Shauna lets go of my arm. I turn to her and raise my eyebrows. She grins. I have not forgotten her own fear of the darkness, or more accurately, the unknown.

The rundown buildings fall away as we near the marsh, becoming fewer and farther between. And then I see the Ferris Wheel. It sits on a narrow piece of land, protruding out into the swampy bog. The wind causes its red, rusty cars to sway back and forth, and I can hear it creak, groan. I cannot imagine why anyone would have wanted to ride it.

We walk along the side of the pier. The buildings on my left are abandoned, but it is an organized kind of departure. Not like the buildings in the Factionless sector, desolate, remnants of shattered glass glittering in window frames like broken teeth. Whoever left those buildings left in a hurry.

We come to a stop at the carousel. I take the flag from my pocket and face my team.

"In ten minutes, the other team will pick their location," I say. "I suggest you take this time to formulate a strategy. We may not be Erudite, but mental preparedness is one aspect of your Dauntless training. Arguably, it is the most important aspect."

Except I wouldn't have known it if I hadn't read the manifestos.

Will strides forward and pulls the flag from my fingertips. This should be interesting. I rest my hand against the tarnished, metal pole that suspends one of the horses and lean into it.

"Some people should stay here and guard and some people should go out and scout the other team's location," he says.

"Yeah? You think?" Marlene snatches the flag from Will. "Who put you in charge, transfer?"

"No one. But someone's got to do it."

Christina steps between them. "Maybe we should develop a more defensive strategy. Wait for them to come to us, then take them out."

"That's the sissy way out," Uriah says with an edge of irritation. "I vote we go all out. Hide the flag well enough that they can't find it."

And then everyone is erupting into quarrelsome conversation. Voices grate against each other, all speaking at once, bickering about the best strategy. It occurs to me how petty this is- we should be working together. I sit down on the edge of the carousel and press my back into the chipped foot of a sad-looking horse, its dull eyes staring, awaiting a rider who will never come. I prop my gun against my shoulder and tilt my head back. The sky is a black, starless backdrop for the full moon, which illuminates the wispy clouds in front of it with soft light. I want to stay here, on the carousel, and block out the voices that grow louder by the minute.

It is now that I realize- I haven't heard Tris speak. Not once. I see a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye, a streak of blonde hair. I stand, unnoticed by the others, and make a quick decision.

I walk with light footsteps behind the small-framed, lithe silhouette who can only be Tris. She leads me further down the pier, her gun slung across her back. Just like mine. I don't know why I feel the urge to follow her. No, maybe I do. She stops in front of the Ferris Wheel. I stop a few feet behind her.

She lifts her eyes upwards, taking in the intricately weaved web of spokes and the cars, swinging at the top, so high up I can barely see them from where I stand-at the bottom. The wheel seems to grow in height the longer I stare at it.

Tris tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and grabs a rung of the ladder joined to the rusted supports_. _She pulls herself up so she's standing on the lowest rung. She bends her knees and jumps to test its stability. _She can't be serious._ I've followed her this far - I have to say something.

"Tris," I say softly so I don't startle her.

She doesn't even flinch. She turns around, her eyebrows raised.

"Yes?"

"I came to find out what you think you're doing."

"I'm seeking higher ground," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't _think_ I'm doing anything."

Of course - a higher vantage point will provide a clear view of the other teams' flag. _This _is the kind of thinking that will win us the game. I grin widely. "All right. I'm coming."


	9. Chapter 9

**_Chapter Nine_**

Tris pauses, her hand clutching the bar.

"I'll be fine," she says.

"Undoubtedly," I assure her. As far as I am concerned, she has already proved her capability.

She starts climbing. I wait until she is high enough and then, gripping the rung level with my chest, I follow her before the fear can influence my decision.

My hands and feet switch places rapidly, because the quicker I climb, the less time I have to think. I draw in a breath and press my lips together. I need to focus on something, anything, other than the fact that I'm climbing a one hundred and fifty foot tall Ferris wheel. With each passing foothold, I question more deeply my true motives for following Tris up here.

I look up instead of down. Tris is right above me, the wind whipping her hair across her back. "So tell me…" I say, my breaths shaking on the way in and on the way out. "What do you think the purpose of this exercise is? The game, I mean, not the climbing."

She looks straight down at the ground, forty feet below. I don't know how she can. I stare at my hands, my knuckles bright red and my fingers quivering as I grip the next bar. I am not breathing so much as gasping.

"Learning about strategy," she decides after a moment. "Teamwork, maybe."

"Teamwork," I repeat. The Dauntless used to value it, but that was before. I laugh, or try to. My chest is constricted and it feels like someone is squeezing my throat, shrinking my airway.

"Maybe not," she corrects herself. "Teamwork doesn't seem to be a Dauntless priority."

The wind gusts are stronger now and I must be back in my fear landscape, because I don't feel this panicky anywhere else but on the ledge of that building. I try to focus on Tris' words. She's right - the current leaders' belief in individual rather than group achievements have masked the very foundation on which Dauntless is grounded. The power of many is far greater than the power of one, especially if you are standing up for something, or someone, you believe in. Which, as I recall, is the very definition of bravery.

"It's supposed to be a priority," I tell her. "It used to be."

I can feel my heart pulsing in my ears and my temples and my fingertips. I am staring at Tris' shoes because I can't look down and I can't look up. Tris falters for a moment, her hand missing the next rung. I wonder if the height is finally having an effect on her.

"Now tell me…" I inhale, gulping for oxygen. I hope she can't pick up on the panic in my voice, building like rushing water behind a dam just before it breaks. "What do you think learning strategy has to do with bravery?"

My heart drums an irregular beat in my ears. I don't hear even Tris's response. We are so far off the ground. Higher than I've ever been- higher than I ever want to be again. So dizzy. Wheezing. I tell my lungs that they're fine, that they can breathe normally. But they can't. I can't.

"Are you all right, Four?" Tris asks, her voice loud. Steady, too.

"Are you human, Tris? Being up this high…" I suck in a breath of cold air, "It doesn't scare you at all?"

She pauses and looks over her shoulder at the ground, like she's just noticing how high we are. But whatever she was about to say gets lost on her lips as a sudden gust of wind presses against her side, throwing her balance to the right. Instinctively, my hand fastens around one of her hips, steadying her. I can feel a strip of bare skin just under the hem of her tee shirt. Unexpected warmth rushes into my hand and courses throughout the rest of me, and I forget, for a moment, that I am seventy-five feet above the ground. I squeeze, guiding her body back to the left, restoring her balance. I take my hand away. My heart is still hammering, but I strongly suspect that there are other contributing factors now.

Tris draws a breath in and looks at her hands.

"You okay?" I ask quietly.

"Yes," she says, her voice small.

We climb in silence, a heaviness hanging in the air. I can still feel her skin against mine, smooth and warm. _Stupid_, I think, shaking my head.

I try to direct my mind elsewhere, which is not difficult. The wind presses against us with a growing intensity, whistling through the spaces between the spokes of the wheel. I count the bolts in the tarnished metal supports, trying, desperately, to calm down.

Around bolt sixty-seven, Tris reaches a small service platform, which, of course, is missing a railing. The wind probably snapped it off. She sits, shifting over a little to leave room for me. I crouch as far away from the edge as possible, my back against the support, my hands pressed to the cool metal floor. Beside me, Tris dangles her legs over the side.

She cuts a glance at me. "You're afraid of heights," she says. "How do you survive in the Dauntless compound?"


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter Ten_**

"I ignore my fear," I say. "When I make decisions, I pretend it doesn't exist."

I gaze out at the horizon, a dark, jagged line broken by the tops of buildings, and my mind shifts to the decision I made not ten minutes ago. I am fairly certain that a potential victory in capture the flag didn't warrant risking my life.

I must have had ulterior motives.

I can feel Tris' eyes on me. I stare at my hands, pretending to be interested in them. I look up, and she's still staring at me. What is she thinking about?

"What?" I say softly.

She looks away. "Nothing."

Her eyes are now focused on the city in front of us, and the building that blocks our view. She bites her lip. I know what she's about to say before she says it, and I don't like it.

"We're not high enough," she mutters.

A clever plan disguised as a suicide mission- that is what this is.

Above us, the wheel's scaffolding is a jumble of white bars. The space where the crossbars join is just wide enough for someone to wedge their foot if they wanted to climb. Or if they had a death wish. One mistake – that is all it would take.

"I'm going to climb," Tris tells me. She swings her legs back onto the platform and stands, grabbing a bar above her head and pulling herself up.

"For God's sake, Stiff," I groan, dragging a hand across my face.

"You don't have to follow me."

I watch her chest expand as she takes a breath, and then she's shoving her foot into the v shape where the bars cross. She grabs another bar, pulls herself up again. Her arms are trembling from exertion.

I push my fear to the back of my mind and lock the door.

"Yes," I say, "I do."

I stand. Grab a bar. Wedge my foot. Pull myself up. I try to match my heartbeats to that rhythm. I hear nothing but the pulsing of my blood in my ears. My fingers ache from gripping the bars so tightly, but the alternative is falling one hundred feet to the ground.

Tris is just above me now. I concentrate on the backs of her sneakers as I grasp the next bar, find another place to shove my foot. My body is charged with adrenaline; I don't feel a burn in my muscles when I hoist myself up to the next foothold, just the rusted bars beneath my fingers.

Tris pauses for a moment, looking out at the city again. Her eyes widen, and she gasps. "See that?" she says, pointing.

I climb a few feet higher so I'm directly behind her, my chin next to her head and my chest close to her back. She smells like soap and something sweet. I ignore the fluttering in my stomach and follow her gaze. The city is cloaked in a thick curtain of darkness, the blinking red light atop the Hub providing the only illumination. I can barely make out the shadowy outlines of the buildings against the navy blue sky. I squint, peering to the left and down a little, where Tris is pointing. And then I see it. A tiny pulsing light in the center of Grant Park. A search party would have spent ages trying to find it.

"Yeah," I say, a slow smile spreading across my face. "It's coming from the park at the end of the pier. Figures," I say. "It's surrounded by open space, but the trees provide some camouflage. Obviously not enough. "

"Okay," she says, turning to face me. We're so close that the city below me disappears, but I'm still breathless nonetheless. Her eyelashes are long and dark, and a few faint freckles spot her nose, which is pink from the wind. I wish the wind would press us closer.

"Um," she says, and I blink. She clears her throat awkwardly, her cheeks bright. "Start climbing down. I'll follow you," she tells me.

I nod and step down. I can't control my shaking hands around the bars as I guide myself back down.

I start at the sound of metal clattering against metal, the clang of a cross bar against pavement. Tris is dangling above me, feet suspended in mid-air, her life hanging by ten fingers clenched tight around the scaffolding.

"Four!" she cries.

I look around frantically, my mind on hyper-alert. _There_. The control platform in the center of the wheel. If I can climb down fast enough, I can pull the lever and start the wheel's rotation to the ground.

"Hold on! Just hold on," I'm yelling, "I have an idea."

I descend rapidly, my hands slick with sweat. Desperation courses through me like wildfire; each second I waste could be Tris's last. I reach the platform's ladder and hurry down it, my sneakers squeaking against the metal rungs. I drop down to the platform.

"Four!" she shouts, her voice anguished.

I take the red lever in my hands and say a prayer as I wrench it downwards. I'm frozen in place with relief as the wheel, creaking and groaning to life, begins its revolution to the ground. The sudden surge of air sends the cars swaying back and forth, and over their squeaking bolts I hear Tris let out a laugh, half relieved, half hysterical. I exhale. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath.


End file.
